


there's a light yet to be found

by maggiemcnue



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Mental Health Issues, Non-Graphic Violence, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-21 14:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maggiemcnue/pseuds/maggiemcnue
Summary: The end of the world came about when Tara was just a kid - society crumbled as the dead rose from their graves. Now, almost thirty years later, she's alone - the walkers are sparse and the living even more so. Frankly, that's the way she wants it; every community she's ever been in has only shown her that it's no use sticking with others.Until she comes across a house that looks remarkably well-kept, considering the circumstances - and a woman who, despite Tara's attempts to the contrary, still manages to break down her walls.





	there's a light yet to be found

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all ever miss a couple so much even though both halves are dead in canon? (If anyone actually reads this, I'll be impressed.)
> 
> I have a vague outline of how I want this all to go down - a better outcome than most multi-chapter fics I start up. Tara might seem OOC at first but I promise all will be rectified by the end - hell, before the end.
> 
> You know the drill. Don't own anything (though if I did, I'd treat Tara and Denise a helluva lot better than they were treated in canon).

The sky and the road looked almost the same: grey, never-ending, blending into one another out on the horizon. Each day was getting colder, more desolate than the last, summer turning into fall turning into winter. The leaves had long since fallen off the trees, and there was a chill in the air that made Tara’s lungs feel like ice. She thought it was December, maybe even January, but she never kept track. The one who kept track was Lilly, and Lilly was –

Tears started welling up in her eyes; she forced that thought out of her mind. That’s how it was. That’s how it had to be. Forget everything that had happened before. Try and focus on the future.

Of course, the future was bleak without a definitive plan in mind, but Tara still hadn’t managed to come up with one. All she knew was that she was going to keep roaming. There had to be somewhere out there that was so untouched by society (or the collapse of it) that she could live somewhat comfortably. She tried to avoid the south; the lack of harsh winters was one of its only conveniences, but there were too many memories down there. It’d be better to freeze to death than see something that reminded her of –

\- of Lilly and Dad and Alisha and -

_Stop_, she told herself. _Stop thinking about it_. And so, she did. It was easier to think about surviving than the past, anyways.

Night was going to fall sooner rather than later; she’d have to find somewhere to settle. Traveling by night had always been one of Dad’s biggest “do nots”; it was too difficult to see who or what was in the distance. It made more sense when the walkers first started appearing decades ago, but Tara was so used to this routine that to try anything else felt strange.

The cold was her next concern. She had a plastic blue tarp to use as a makeshift blanket, and she had the coat she was wearing that she’d picked up forever ago, but it was only going to get her so far. It was late enough in the year that a blanket of snow began to cover everything, that her breath fogged in the air and that - when she saw her reflection - her cheeks were reddened. Tara’s hand felt frozen to the axe she carried with her; she figured that her gun and holster would feel much the same if she had to try and dislodge that, too. Her weapons were her only companions now, even when she caught a few hours of light, uneasy rest.

Every day that passed, fewer opportunities to use it came about, one of the only things she was grateful for. She never had trouble killing the walkers; she’d done that since she was a kid, but the walkers showed up less and less. They were disintegrating into dust, melting into the ground, or were already killed by people who had long since passed through. The living, she saw with even less frequency. But she was okay with that.

She was sick of people, for the most part. Every opportunity she had to live with others, things had gone wrong. People created conflicts, tensions rose, communities dissolved, and people died. People always fucking died. Tara knew the cycle too well to try and see if anyone else was different.

Not that she was given any more chances. The last time she had seen anyone had probably been at least a year ago, back when she was further down south. Maybe she was the only one left alive. The last woman standing, after decades of the dead ruling the earth. She didn’t know whether that made her feel better or worse; she didn’t want to know.

Feelings didn’t matter. That’s what Tara told herself, anyway. If she tried to scrutinize her emotions any longer, she’d drive herself insane. Instead, she focused on other things - like finding the first piece of shelter she could and hunkering down for a bit.

The road ahead stretched out for miles and miles, cracked and worn. She hadn’t seen the remains of any town for almost two weeks – and she couldn’t guess where she had been then. The welcome sign was so worn and faded that deciphering the name of the town, let alone its location, was a hopeless effort. All she knew was that she was decidedly up north. Maybe the remains of what was once Michigan. Wherever she was now, it was almost in the middle of nowhere.

Almost, except for the faint outline of something ahead - some sort of building. Shelter. That’s all that mattered, really. It would let her get out of the snow. She could take her backpack off. It would even let her get some sleep. And that’s what kept her going until the outline became more solidified: the promise of sleep and safety. Whatever safety meant these days.

The first thing that Tara noticed, once she got closer, was the fence. It was tall, made of chain-link, and reminded her of the fenced-in playground of the elementary school she attended what seemed like a lifetime ago. The building itself was a house two stories tall, with a window that indicated there was a small attic at the top. Somehow foreboding, it jolted another memory from childhood into her mind: the house at the end of her street, the one where all the kids rumored a witch lived.

Witch or not, the entire place looked…occupied. It wasn't a complete disaster like every other house she had seen over the past few years. There were a million reasons why it wouldn’t be. There were a million reasons why Tara _hoped _it wouldn’t be.

When she got close enough to make out more details, she noticed the tiny plot of land right next to the house. There were the messy remains of what looked to be a garden; thin, wooden stakes jutted up from the ground, and soil (what she could see of it under the snow) had been recently upturned.

This place had definitely been lived in after the walkers rose. Someone had made a home out of it, and it had been done recently. Her heart lurched. There was a slim chance that someone was in there, living or dead.

If it was the dead, she could take care of that easily enough. It was the living that frightened her. But she had to take that risk; who knew when she’d come across another house. She hadn’t seen a decent place to rest for several days and Tara was really getting sick of sleeping in the woods that littered the area. If someone was in there, hopefully, there wouldn’t be enough animosity between her and them that a fight would break out; best case scenario, she could just give a half-assed apology and get the hell out of dodge. Worst case…well.

She slipped her backpack off momentarily, unzipped it, wrapped her axe up in a large piece of cloth, and stuck it inside. Once she put it back on, she undid her gun from its holster. She didn’t have many bullets left, and it was a miracle she had any - honestly, she probably had some of the last in existence - but waving around a Smith & Wesson was ten times more intimidating than an axe.

When she unlatched the gate, it opened with an obnoxious creak, and snow crunched under her boots (had it really already fallen up to her ankles?) as she walked in. Getting closer, she noticed the house didn’t have the telltale dilapidation of other abandoned places; it looked relatively clean, at least on the outside. Tara went straight to the back door. If there was someone inside, it’d be smarter to enter from the back rather than just waltz right in. Luckily, when she opened it, it wasn’t nearly as loud as the gate had been. The door shut behind her as quietly as she had opened it. The kitchen she found herself in looked as if it had been used relatively recently; there were a few mason jars of vegetables on the counter, and there was a book sitting beside them, flipped upside down so whoever was reading could keep track of what page they were on.

Tara took several steps inside, her footsteps light and slow as she tried to hear any telltale signs of life around her. Somewhere, a pendulum clock _tick-tick-tick_ed; the house moaned as it settled on its own; but she didn’t hear anyone.

Gently setting her backpack down onto the nearby table, she let out a tiny huff of relief but didn’t quite let her guard down yet. That wouldn’t be possible until she had searched each room – and even then, she might have to double-check, just to make sure.

The quick sweep she did of the first floor showed no threats; no walkers, no people. She took a brief note of the fact that the dining room table had silverware set out for two people, but otherwise, there was nothing to write home about. The stairs to the second floor were right by the front entrance; from the bottom, she could see into the living room and the dining room.

Looking upwards, all she could see was a long, narrow hallway; each door was closed. Though she tried to muffle her footsteps best as she could as she made her way upstairs, the stair tread still creaked and groaned every time she shifted her weight.

“Dennis?” said a voice, just barely audible.

_Shit. Shit shit shit._ She had gambled and had gambled wrong. She should’ve known better; a million signs were pointing to the fact that people were living here, but the thought of being able to sleep in a house instead of the fucking woods had completely overpowered her. The thought of seeing other people – worse, seeing people whose house she had just broken into, who would probably be pissed off and armed to the teeth – made her heart nearly skip a beat. Gripping her gun a bit tighter, she continued her ascent until she was fully on the second floor, hoping the woman would speak again – partially to make sure Tara wasn’t going insane, and partially to figure out exactly where she was.

Luck was at least on her side for that.

“You weren’t supposed to be back for another week!” said the voice, a bit louder. The second room on the left. Probably in the far corner of the room.

Tara didn’t stop moving; it was best to open the door and surprise whoever was behind it. Taking a deep breath and preparing for the worst (while hoping for the best), she quickly opened the door. “Hands up. Don’t move. You shoot, I shoot first."

It was ironic, though, that the woman she was pointing the gun at was probably the least threatening person she had ever seen. 


End file.
